Mental Metamorphosis
by GhostlyMayhem
Summary: Just like her father, Yvonne's once sane, innocent mind would slowly transform, descending into darkness from the trauma brought on by the Great War. What exactly happened to Yvonne after being taken by the enemy soldiers? Along the way she meets a familiar face willing to help her. Possible romance later on, depending on how many chapters I write. Please read & review! UPDATED!
1. Taken

**...**

**Mental Metamorphosis**

**...**

She felt it to be her fault.

Her father told her to stay put and keep quiet in that cupboard. And she was able to for a short time, but the ear-piercing shrieks of her mother had frightened the nine-year-old little girl to tears, until she choked on them and whimpered, the whimpers progressing into loud, racking sobs. It was only a matter of time until Yvonne heard the heavy boots approach the cupboard, before the seemingly secret door was opened and a stranger peered inside, reaching in and grabbing her.

She couldn't understand that it wasn't her fault, and couldn't understand just how much danger she was in. How her father lay immobilized and obviously injured on the ground, surrounded by soldiers aiming their guns. She didn't understand that he couldn't save her, so she still reached for him anyway. Their eyes locked as she was carried away, out of the room. How wide and terrified his eyes were as he watched her go. Yvonne was quite sure she saw his lips form her name before the soldier who found her carried her out of the room completely. She stopped struggling and screaming altogether, instead finding small comfort in crying softly to herself as she was carried out of the small home.

Daylight was breaking in the horizon, bit she hardly noticed. No, what caught her attention as she was carried outside, were the multiple army trucks surrounding the home, and the many soldiers around, all armed with guns. For a second she found herself clinging to the soldier who held her, thinking she was in the comforting arms of her father, until the uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling rose in her chest and reminded her that her father was still inside; that when her father held her, his arms didn't feel as tight and rough around her small frame.

She recoiled quickly from the soldier, though he still had a strong hold on her.

Where was her mother? Yvonne hadn't seen her when the soldier had grabbed her, and she had heard her screams a few moments before, but they had faded away completely. Those soldiers must have put her mother somewhere, possibly in the back of one of those trucks. Even she knew that's where she would be, but where she would end up later on, she had no idea.

The doors to the back of one of the army trucks opened up as Yvonne was lead in that direction.

All she could do was bite down on her lower lip as hot, thick tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to go home, but three days before she had witnessed her entire home burn to the ground, with everyone she knew burning around her. It had been to late when her father covered her eyes from the chaotic images around them; the damage was already done.

The soldier roughly tossed her into the back of the truck. Yvonne cried out, startled, as she hit the floor. Her chest heaving painfully with unfinished sobs, the doors slammed shut completely before she could turn her head. The space was quite small, much more than the cupboard was. The horrible feeling of loneliness struck her heart as she curled up into a ball, shutting her eyes to maybe, just maybe pretend this wasn't real. That she was still in the cupboard, that she hadn't been taken and she hadn't heard her mother's screams.

It didn't work. The memory was to fresh and felt much to real. The pit in her stomach, the ache in her heart: it was real. This was all real.

Did they kill her father? Would they let him live?

As the truck was put into motion, driving away into the desert morning, she clung to the small hope that her father was still alive. It was the only thing she was sure of...

...because she never heard them fire their guns.

* * *

Her innocent mind wasn't able to comprehend why the enemy soldiers were keeping just the women and girls prisoner. She had yet to see a little boy or young man, and as time went on, she learned why and what exactly happened to the little boys that did survive: the strong ones were taken to be trained as an enemy soldier, while the weak or injured little boys were shot on the spot.

As her time there went on, with the constant hunger from being under fed, and with the constant abuse that all the girls faced daily, Yvonne sometimes found herself wishing she had been killed instead of being brought to that awful place.

For two years she was never sure why the women and girls were kept there. No one really spoke much: most of the girls living in that cabin with her looked haunted, eyes void of any emotion, pale and sickly in color. Even at age eleven she didn't understand their purpose there.

However, there was something she would notice happen on occasion, ever since her first week there at the prison camp: in the living quarters where all the girls slept, each on make-shift beds that were side-by-side in rows, she would notice a girl being taken by a soldier. Sometimes different girls, or sometimes the same girl, but they'd always come back the next morning, seeming more pale and empty in appearance. Sometimes with bruises on their face, arms and legs. Every night a soldier would come in, grab a girl from their bed, and take them out of the living quarters for the night.

She had been there for two years since being taken from her father in that shack in the hills after the bombing of their town, and not one soldier came in for her. None. She felt lucky, but would feel guilty for the other girls who weren't so lucky despite the fact she didn't know what exactly happened to the girls that were taken out for the night. Quite frankly she didn't want to know, and prayed that the soldiers wouldn't remember her and pick her.

Another year went by, and nothing happened, until a week after turning twelve when, as she slept, her eyes shot open, an overpowering sensation of fear gripping her every being. She turned her head toward the large front doors where a soldier would some come in, looking for a specific girl. Normally she had gotten used to the sudden sound of opening doors and boots slamming against the tile floors, but now she found herself wide awake, just as a silhouette appeared under the door.

The doors burst open.

All of the other girls had grown used to this nightly occurrence as well, able to sleep through the sounds that would usually strike fear into most. She was the only one staring with wide eyes right at the soldier who walked in, coming her way. He was approaching her, she realized, and her hold on the old blanket tightened.

He stopped right at her bed, staring down at her, whispering angrily in a language she didn't know, but was used to hearing. He grabbed her arm, pulling her out of bed. Yvonne's heart pounded painfully in her chest, but she refused to cry. The fear however didn't subside.

She was dragged out of the living quarters, with her stumbling to keep up with the soldier who held her arm in a tight, bruising grip. He lead her down the main hall toward the stairs, which lead to the upper floors that the girls weren't supposed to ever enter during the day. Except when they take the other girls, she realized, dread filling the pit of her constantly empty stomach. She suddenly felt very cold, more than ever before, though there was always a constant chill in that awful place. She started shaking, her skin gathering goose bumps.

She lost track of how far down the hall she was being dragged down, having been distracted by the fears and possibilities that plagued her mind. They stopped in front of a wooden door, which the soldier beside her knocked upon, only once.

There was a long pause, though a faint pair of footsteps could be heard approaching on the other side, just as the door opened, revealing a tall, rough looking man dressed in heavy army attire, possibly one of the generals of the enemy's large army. He spoke to the soldier, though she couldn't catch even a word of what he was saying.

It wasn't until he finally made eye contact with her that Yvonne figured that the two had been speaking about her specifically.

Yvonne was suddenly pushed forward, stumbling into the room. She grabbed her now free arm, noticing the bruise marking out the soldier's hand already forming. As the door slammed shut, she noticed that she was in a bedroom, much lavish than anything she ever had back at home, with the master bed much more exquisite than the make shift beds that the girls here had to sleep on. Those red silk covers made her feel so tired on the inside, wishing she had something similar, at least a little piece of luxury to have in that hell-hole.

Though confused and still a bit terrified, Yvonne nearly chuckled in cold amusement and slight delusion by her longing for such a nice bed; such a small, useless desire. As if that would ever happen... It's a miracle they don't force us to sleep on the floor or outside in the dirt.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the faint sound of the door being locked from behind.

Hands. Large, rough hands draped over her shoulders. Startled by the sudden touch, she gasped, but when she tried to turn to look at the enemy general, he jerked her back in place. Her heart pounding, the sound echoing throughout her head as she felt his hot, heavy breathing down her neck. She cringed, turning away from the horrible smell wafting around. His breath smelt of hard alcohol. One hand gripped her neck while another trailed down her back.

Frightened, she shivered, closing her eyes briefly. She didn't like the feeling of his touch. She didn't like being touched that way from a complete stranger, period. It churned her empty stomach, making her feel nauseated.

_Is this what they do to the others?_

He removed his hold on her neck, bringing both hands to the back of her white, yet stained nightgown. Before she could register what he planned to do, the sound of ripping fabric interrupted her confusion. The top of her nightgown fell now, opening up, revealing her bare shoulders and back as he continued ripping the breakable fabric apart.

The room grew colder, the goose bumps returning all over. She desperately tried to cover herself with what was left of her nightgown, trying to shield her exposed form from his wandering eyes.

_What is he doing to me?_

Tears threatened to form in her eyes as he lead her toward the bed she had earlier been longing for.

_What's happening...?_

Yvonne was shoved onto the bed, bringing forth a startled cry from the twelve-year-old already on the verge of tears. The bed was as comfortable and cozy as it appeared, the silk so smooth, so warm, yet the air was so cold, so harsh against her skin.

The tears burst out, trailing down her cheeks in warm rivers along fields of snow. She turned to get a brief look at the general and noticed an unfamiliar look in his dark eyes. She only caught it for a moment, words tumbling past her lips in racking sobs.

"...Please..."

He didn't understand the word. Not in her language, or even in his.

Ignoring the single plea, he pounced on her hungrily; a hunter and it's prey.

* * *

**A/N: The Great War; multiple countries waging war and gunfire against a single enemy country. The enemy soldiers took the surviving women and girls from the other countries after invading those countries, Marjory and Yvonne being two of the many captive females.**

**Rape is a rather odd topic to write about, and for some reason it's an ingredient I use for a few separate pieces I write. It's the mindset, the mentality of both attacker and victim that is interesting to write about. I want to be a psychologist, so... Any mental state is interesting to write about: the sane, insane, traumatized, numb, pathological, paranoid minds are interesting to write about. Hence why Salad Fingers is interesting as a whole character: he's a tragic character who obviously saw something that made him who he is now, besides the radiation that surely caused his deformities.**

**There'll be a next chapter, about Yvonne having the same mental metamorphosis as her father is. I started school (last year of High School, bitches XD) and I find that I'm able to write more while in school because I'm not as lazy. Explanation COMPLETE. XD I have mostly electives, and my English class is going to be all in-class work, it's just my economics class that'll have homework. Yay.**

**Please review if you can!**


	2. The Paperboy

**_..._**

**_Part 2_**

**_..._**

There was a scream. It sounded female, young, a child possibly, he couldn't be sure. It startled him, not because it was so abrupt, but because the scream, who it belonged to, sounded eerily familiar.

He couldn't be sure anymore.

_'Please daddy… Help me!'_

"Who are you?" He asked the dirty mirror in front of him, the girl's voice so clear in his head. His reflection didn't seem the same anymore, but he couldn't remember that. He forgot for a reason. "Where are your parents, young one?"

_'Daddy, the man's hurting me!'_

He blinked, confused, no longer able to tell reality from fantasy, though even he couldn't tell the difference. In the ruin world he lived in, it was better to live this way. The memories...

To painful for a reason.

_"You remember that..."_

He frowned. "Keep quiet, Jeremy Fisher! I will not have such thoughts invading my head..."

Wrong word to use. Invade, invade, invade.

"Like the Great War..." he mumbled, peering down at the mirror, at the green, deformed man looking back at him.

_'Daddy, it hurts!'_

_"I don't know who you're talking about,"_ he said quietly, _"I'm not your-"_

_'DADDY, HELP ME! PLEASE!'_

He blinked, the image in the mirror changing before him. He didn't know how and didn't know why, all he knew was that he was seeing something he was sure he wasn't supposed to.

The girl was young, twelve at the most possibly. Lying flat on a bed, her nightgown in shreds, with a large, unfamiliar man on top of her.

_"Deflowering her rose..."_

She was silently screaming now, as the man pumped back and forth on top of her, _into_ her... _Inside_ her.

Red hair. The girl had red hair.

And his eyes widened. "Yvonne..." the name slipped past his lips. Horrified... He felt horrified by what he was seeing, now that he knew who he was watching. His daughter's rose was being deflowered before him... And he could do nothing to prevent it.

_Great War. Bombings. Soldiers. Marjory and Yvonne. Taken. Gone._

He remembered. Only for a moment.

There was an angry roar, and it startled him when he realized that awful sound was bursting from his throat. Glass shattered, his hand began to sting. The stinging sensation felt so amazing, that he moaned, the memory and the anger, the guilt, the pain... all fading away. Maybe for a good reason.

The mirror was cracked before him, his reflection broken. The screaming inside his head stopped, and the image was gone. Blood dripped onto the floor before him, forming a small puddle.

"Oh dear," he sighed, shaking his head. "I wonder who created this mess?"

_Better to forget,_ a voice told him. _There's nothing you can do for them now. It's better to forget._

He nodded eagerly. "Yes... It's better to forget..."

He had forgotten for a reason.

But some memories never really go away.

* * *

A part of her sanity died that night.

Once everything was done, the horrors finally over, as she was forced to lay beside the general who had done those disgusting things to her body, Yvonne had found herself to exhausted and nauseated inside to stay awake. Despite choking silently on her tears, her legs aching and feeling the inside of her mind being literally torn apart by the fresh memory of what had happened, she was able to close her eyes and fall into a deep slumber.

That night she heard whispers. The smell of burning flesh wafted through the air, screams of the women and children from her hometown could be heard as they were eaten alive by flames. Hot, heavy breathing in the darkness, a rough hand caressing her cheek and stroking along unmentionable parts of her body.

Sick. Disgusting. This couldn't happen again. His touch. The general's breath along her throat. Alcohol overwhelmed her sensations, and it flowed in gently around the flames of her burning town. The bombs continued to fall. Her mother screamed, and she sobbed.

_Mommy, where'd you go? Did they kill Daddy? Where have you gone?_

_Daddy is alive still._

_Still alive._

When she awoke the next morning, her thighs still ached, and when she was lead back to the living quarters, she had to limp. Her legs felt like jelly. Her body felt numb, and the only place to retreat to was her tainted mind.

"Daddy, where have you gone?" she whispered to herself, now sitting on her make-shift bed. All was quiet once again. Just like before. And it didn't help that in some subconscious way, she desperately needed to speak to someone. To help get her mind off of what had happened that night before in the bedroom. The stranger's touch, rough yet gentle. Rough in the sense of the bruises decorating the inside of her legs; gentle in the sense of the back of his hand gently stroking her cheek once he was done.

"Daddy, you're alive still... I'm sure of it." The silence. No one answered her. She was in a room filled with girls around age that she now understood the reason as to why they didn't speak. But it upset her. She needed someone. She was so lonely. She felt it stab her chest, bringing another lump in her throat.

"Why?" It came out in a scream that seemed to startle the other girls. "Why won't anyone talk to me?" Tears filled Yvonne's blue eyes, screaming once again, "Talk to me!"

The other girls watched her, some with wide eyes, others with eyes void of any emotion. Blank. Empty.

Somehow she felt the same. Especially now after what had happened.

She no longer felt like a child. What had been done to her was something she knew only happened to grown ups. She was touched as though she were an adult, when in reality she was still just an innocent child who seemed to have lost everything. Including her mind. All she had left were faint memories of a once happy childhood, before the Great War even started, before the bombings, before being taken, and especially before being _'deflowered'_.

Her skin was crawling again. She felt so filthy. She calmed down a bit, despite the tears still streaming down her cheeks. She came back suddenly, curling up into a ball, sobbing silently to herself. One moment she had been inside herself, the next she was out in reality. The tears she found suddenly streaming down her cheeks brought fourth the all-to-fresh memories of her rape. She understood again, no longer faintly there but instead fully there once again.

Seemingly all alone, she was able to cry herself back to sleep, surrounded by girls who shared the same scars as she.

* * *

She was taken much more often after the first time.

By the time she turned fourteen, she had been taken in the night at least over twenty times. She had lost count after the tenth time. They forced her to do acts, sometimes more than one soldier would be in the room, taking turns... They'd force her to wear provocative clothing, high heels... The older she grew there in that awful place, the more soldiers would take her, the more she was forced to perform for them before they got what they wanted... And each time she lost more and more of herself. Before she was able to come back into reality after being locked away in her mind, repeating aloud memories and words without even realizing it. Now each morning when dragged back to the living quarters, she would return at a random time. It was uncontrollable. The times when her mind would go blank and she would lose touch with reality were brought on by anything that reminded her of everything that had happened in those seven years. She called them _'triggers'_; any item that would trigger a flashback. Her body would go slightly slack and her mind would go blank completely.

It wasn't just the general who had his way with her anymore. She'd be passed around to different soldiers each time, like a shared meal. After the twelfth time she was able to retreat into her mind as the torture would go on. By then it was easier for her to forget each time, though the scars, the bruises and pain between her legs would always be a trigger, forcing her to relieve each time.

With her hair hanging loosely around her pale face, she took small, hesitant steps as she was brought to yet another door by a soldier griping her arm.

"...I already checked, Mom. The markets not open today..." another memory. Inside her mind she was reliving it, the memory of those mornings where her mother would give her some change to go run down to the local market to buy certain goods favored by her mother and father. Usually some raspberry jam, fresh loads of bread right out of the oven, honey and bags of tea.

"...I'm a big girl, I can run down to the market by myself..."

_'Maybe, but you're still young, Yvonne.'_

"...But I can handle it, Mom..."

There was knocking.

_'I wonder who's at the door?'_

"Probably the paper boy," Yvonne mumbled. A smile appeared. Broken yet satisfied. "He's my age, you know. We go to the same school together."

_'There's only one school here in town...'_

"I know, I'm just saying."

The door opened, revealing a young man, not much older than Yvonne. With curly brown hair and green eyes, this soldier stared at Yvonne with seemingly sympathetic eyes. He reached out, gently grabbing a hold of her arm as the other soldier let go. He gave a nod at the soldier, who in turn left.

Yvonne shuffled inside, unaware of her surroundings. "Mom, it is the paperboy! It's a shame I don't know his real name... I always see his him walking down the street in the mornings before the school bell rings."

The door shut, the young man turned to face Yvonne who had already taken a seat on the bed, subconsciously preparing for what was to come, yet no longer fully aware.

"Yvonne?"

She heard her name. From the paperboy before her in her memory. She smiled. "He seems to know my name. But we've never fully spoken before."

She felt someone holding her arms gently. "Yvonne? Do you remember me?"

"The paperboy does his daily route down our lane, to our house then the next," Yvonne sang quietly, not fully looking at the young man before her directly. Her eyes had a faraway look to them: she was staring off into space. "Before the morning birds make their rounds, before the first bell rings out across town, you'll get your papers and know what's going on!"

He was kneeling before her, eyes wide. Horrified by how she appeared in his eyes. "Yvonne..."

"Daddy and I made that song together," she sighed happily. "I'm so relieved he's not going off to fight the Great War. He won't end up like Uncle Kenneth."

He reached a hand up, tentatively touching her cheek. She felt so cold and seemed so... lifeless. She wasn't the same Yvonne he remembered, from before their town was bombed, before he himself was taken. But she might still be there, somewhere, for she did remember him. If not slightly. "Yvonne..." he sighed, holding her cheek with his palm. "What have they done to you?"

"I was going down to the market to get some jam and honey," she responded, almost cheerfully. "Would you like to join me?"

"Yvonne, don't you remember me?"

She felt his touch. She was slowly being pulled from her faint childhood memories and back into reality. Her vision opened up to her current surroundings. A bedroom, satin covers, a man before her. Judging by his uniform, he was a soldier. Though her vision was still blurry, the uniform stood out loud and clear.

The memory was fading. Her mother was disappearing before her. "No..." she moaned, covering her face with her hands. "I don't want to be here, Mommy... Where did you go?" His touch was still on her check, but she made no attempt to pull away from him. Reality was becoming clearer. "No, no, no..." her breathing quickened, her hands clutching her hair in a frantic motion. Eyes shut tightly.

"Yvonne, please," he begged, gripping her arms gently, hoping to bring her to look at him straight in the eye. "Listen to me! You must remember me. Even if just a little. I am that paperboy you were talking about." He smiled faintly, despite knowing that she couldn't see his smile. "You may not have known me well, but I remember you perfectly. I'm here to help... Even if only a little."

_Help._

_'Help?'_

She tensed slightly under his hold, but after that word resonated in her head, she relaxed. "Help..." she said the word aloud, fully conscious now. Aware of her surroundings and the fact that her name was being repeated by this seemingly unknown soldier. She hadn't heard her name spoken aloud by someone in seven years.

Her eyes opened, and slowly, she glanced up at the young man her age kneeling before her. The sympathy in his green eyes made her feel safe, and felt so... familiar.

They stared at each other. When he was sure she was looking right into his eyes, no longer seeming void or blank, he went on, "Yes, help." He lowered his voice a bit. "They took me too to after the bombings. Don't you remember the bombings?"

"The bombings..." the words slipped out, and the memories came pouring back, and it took all her power and energy not to go blank and void again, for those green eyes, that voice... This boy seemed so familiar, and she hadn't heard him when he said that he was the paperboy she had been mentioning aloud from her memories. She seemed determined to find out. "Do... I know you?"

He nodded once. "I'm the paperboy. The one you mentioned aloud..."

That little paperboy from town, with the curly brown hair and bright green eyes. Was this him? The resemblance was surely there, she could see it, but how could this be that local paperboy from so many years ago? She was sure all the surviving little boys had been killed. Hadn't they? "Your name?"

This took him aback. "My name?"

"I only knew you as the paperboy... I never knew your real name." This was the paperboy from town. The one she went to school with and saw every morning delivering the papers on his bike as she made her way to school. Before the first bell rang. She could see it in his sympathetic green eyes. The only familiar face.

He could see damage in her sea blue eyes. Beyond repair. But if she could come back after seemingly losing touch with reality, maybe there was hope for her. And though he hadn't known her well, he always saw her, everyday in the morning as he made his daily rounds and as she made her way to school. He never had the courage to talk to her, though he regretted it completely after the bombings, and especially after being taken. "My name is Henry. Henry Griffith. And you're Yvonne Baxter."

She smiled, genuine this time. Fully aware for once. She felt so safe and comforted just by being with a familiar face. "Henry... What a lovely name. It's nice to see a familiar face in such an awful place." Suddenly she frowned, "Your family..."

"They're... Gone..." He gave a shrug. He worried the word _'death'_ would send Yvonne back into a mental relapse. "It's just me." For a moment, Henry nearly asked her about her family. Marjory and Sam Baxter, her only family from what he could recall. She didn't have any siblings or living grandparents. Just her beautiful red-headed mother and calm, level-headed father. Were they dead too? "But I've managed."

Yvonne squinted a bit, her focus now on his uniform. "You're... One of them." She glanced up, staring back into his green eyes. "But you haven't hurt me yet."

"That's because I'm not one of them," he answered softly, removing his hand from her cheek when he realized his hand was still there. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he glanced away in embarrassment. "I'm not going to hurt you." The atmosphere changed suddenly, and Henry turned toward the door, noticing the silhouette peaking through from the space underneath. "But they think we're having intercourse at this very moment." He turned back toward Yvonne, who appeared frightened by this revelation. "But after seeing that you were being kept here, I requested the other soldiers to bring you up here for a reason."

"Which is?"

"Like I said before: To help you." He reached forward, placing his hand over Yvonne's to let her know she wasn't alone anymore. "I remember you. We went to the same school together and I saw you everyday. You're the only familiar face I've seen in years."

She didn't recoil from his touch. She had flinched momentarily, but relaxed, trusting him.

"I've seen what they've done to the girls here, and I couldn't bare the thought of that happening to you." The guilt rose in his chest. But I can already tell that I'm to late. They've already hurt you.

She might not have known him that well, but Henry had always seen her in town, and would always watch as she walked away, to and from school, or to the local market in the afternoons. He liked her back then, and he found that his feelings for her hadn't changed, even after all these years of thinking she had died. And it pained him to know that she had been violated, more than once by the looks of it.

_I'm so sorry, Yvonne..._

After a minute, Yvonne broke the silence. "So what happens now?"

Henry glanced over at the door. The silhouette was gone. He turned back toward Yvonne and smiled. "I was thinking that maybe we could talk for a while. You know, to make up for all those times we didn't talk... Before everything changed."

She looked back at those times seeing Henry riding his bike down her street, and suddenly wished she had talked to him. But maybe she could make up for it now. Her wish to finally talk to someone, especially a familiar face, had been granted. And she was happy to oblige. She felt that she could trust him.

"I'd like that very much," she said with a smile.

* * *

_That night..._

England had surely lost the Great War.

The thought hadn't crossed her mind in those painfully long seven years. It was quite evident now more than ever that England was either deserted, blown to bits, or taken over completely. Both thoughts terrified her to no end as she lied there, alone in that bed.

She stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep now because of the thought.

_Mustn't let those thoughts take over me. They'll surely take my mind away from me._

She glanced over at Henry, who was asleep on the chair by the side window. She couldn't go back downstairs to the living quarters, otherwise the other soldiers would know that Henry hadn't touched her. Neither of them wanted the others to know, so Henry decided on having Yvonne sleeping on the bed, having seen how uncomfortable the make-shift beds looked like. It was only fair.

Her blue eyes shifted back up toward the ceiling. _Think happy thoughts._

_Happy thoughts...?_

That was quite simple. Her mind wandered as she closed her eyes, though under much more peaceful circumstances. With her mother cooking in the kitchen, the sweet aroma of her festive fall pumpkin bread wafted through the air.

"Oh Mom, that smells lovely..." Yvonne mumbled delightfully in her sleep, but in her dream she watched her inventively, holding her prize glass doll close to her. Her favorite toy growing up, it was the only one she slept with those childhood nights. The doll originally belonged to her deceased grandmother, and Yvonne named her Angelica, with flowing black hair, and sea-blue eyes like her own. The doll's glass skin white as snow, it would crack if Yvonne ever dropped her, which she was careful in making sure she never did. The thought sent shivers up her spine.

_I'll never drop you, Angelica. Never. Otherwise you'd be broken..._

_Broken._

_...Broken?_

"Broken..." the word rolled around on her tongue as she spoke it aloud, testing the sound of it in her mouth. "...Broken..." And she knew what the word meant. She knew it perfectly clear.

**Ruptured. Torn. Fragmented.**

_Like glass. Like Angelica if I were to drop her._

**Not functioning properly. Out of order.**

_Like my mind._

She wasn't afraid to admit that. Her mind really was... Disconnected. Understandably so.

**Infringed. Violated.**

_Like my body..._

She couldn't deny it: she was broken. She was the definition of broken. Every rape she went through would break apart pieces of her mind. Now her touch on reality was harder to keep together. It was strained, and it took effort to keep from fading away to some far away memory. But when she was taken, she willing let go of her mind.

It was, after all, her only means of escape.

At some point during the night, Henry was quite sure he heard the word _"broken"_ being repeated. But as he fell back asleep, he didn't think much of the word and what it truly meant, and who the word suited most.

* * *

**A/N: just FYI, the person at the beginning is Salad Fingers. In case you didn't know that...**

**Anyway, I set up Yvonne and Henry's relationship to be a bit like Katniss and Peeta in the sense that Peeta always watched Katniss when they were young and could never find the courage to talk to her. Same thing here: Henry and Yvonne went to the same school, and they knew each other somewhat. She knew he was the paperboy but never talked to him, and he knew her name and always wanted to talk to her and couldn't find the courage to. He survived the bombings, but his family didn't. He was taken by the enemy soldiers to be trained as an enemy soldier himself. Their relationship might be kinda like Finnick and Annie, for Annie was deeply traumatized by her experience in her Hunger Games, and Finnick was like her rock: to support and comfort her, to take the bed thoughts away.**

**It'll be a combination of kinda the same ingredients, only it'll be it's own thing.**

**Yeah, there might be some romance. Basically I'm headed in that direction. Normally I love the relationship where the girl fights for herself and such, and doesn't need a guy to protect her, but it'll be kinda an exception in this story just to practice different pairings and different dynamics. She won't be a damsel in distress, she'll just be severely mentally scarred. And he basically helps her.**

**Anyway... Yup. I gave Salad Fingers a name, basically what I think his name would be: Samuel Baxter. I know, very anti-climatic. XD I'm pretty sure Marjory was his wife. It's pretty obvious she was. I think her name was Marjory Stewart, but when she married Samuel (Salad Fingers) she added the hyphen to her last name, Stewart-Baxter, maybe to honor her father's wishes on keeping the family name? I don't know. Some people do that. I know I do: Bermudez-Hurley. My Dad's last name and my stepdad's last name (he's more of my dad than my real dad anyway).**

**Yup. Please review, please I'm begging!**


	3. An Idea

**Part 3**

Whatever peace she had from the night before was suddenly shattered.

There came a demanding yell, followed by the heavy pounding at the door. Yvonne jolted awake, sitting up quickly. Just as she turned to glance at Henry, she barely caught a glimpse of him as he shot up from the chair he spent the previous night sleeping in. He stood brave and tall at the foot of the bed, just as the door shot open.

The other soldier came in, shouting at Yvonne in that oh-so familiar yet unknown foreign language. She understood what was happening now, able to see with open, alert eyes instead of being trapped inside another universe of the once happy, now distant past that was buried within her mind. She was there for once, understanding that the soldier was there to take her back to the living quarters down stairs.

Much to her surprise, Henry actually began speaking the same language to the other soldier, and by the sounds of it, he was angry. Frustrated perhaps? Yvonne was unsure why he'd be frustrated; she could only focus on the fact that this familiar face from so long ago was now speaking the same language as the enemy. Not only wearing their clothes, but actually speaking like them. He looked like them and sounded like them. But Yvonne didn't feel threatened in his presence. She felt comforted. The familiarity was enough to bring her just enough peace for that one night. The fact he didn't take advantage of her was enough to let her know she could trust him.

Maybe Henry had been right: He would help her.

The other, much older soldier came over to Yvonne, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip. A usual occurrence. She was especially used to this; being grabbed so roughly by these men. She was used to how the men here treated her, treated the other girls. It wasn't the same way she remembered her father treating her mother. It wasn't at all the same. A strand of her mother's long red hair being brushed back over her ear from her father while they kissed. Before, as a child, Yvonne was disgusted by such affections displayed by her parents to one another. Not so much disgusted as she was confused by the display. It didn't make sense to her back then, and especially now, where the men here abused the women like punching bags. She now longed for even just a bit of affection from a man, without the bruises, without the inappropriate touching in other places before the other unspeakable things happened.

A simple loving gesture was all she could wish for in such a hell. Not those rough grips that left bruises on her upper arms that she was so used to now. Yvonne knew that real men didn't beat women. These soldiers were the farthest thing from men: they were animals.

Yvonne was yanked out of the bed, stumbling past Henry as she was lead toward the open door. Before they turned into the hallway, she turned to get once last look at Henry. He stood there, looking back with those same sympathetic green eyes. Such sweet green eyes they were...

He gave a simple nod just as Yvonne lost sight of him. And as she was lead back to the living quarters, she was left to wonder what that nod meant. If she would see him again or not.

Would she see him again?

She honestly hoped so.

* * *

It would be a few days before Yvonne and Henry would meet again.

He couldn't help but reminisce about that morning only a few days ago. Not when the soldier barged in, startling Yvonne awake with wide eyes, but what he saw that morning just briefly before the peace was shattered completely. How the sunlight leaking through the windows illuminated Yvonne's auburn hair into making it seem more red. It brought out her mother's genes in those few moments he noticed it, because her hair was a mixture of her father's light brown hair and her mother's nearly flame red hair. In the darkness it seemed more brown; in the light it seemed much more red than it really was.

And it wasn't just that.

When he was just a boy, Henry found Yvonne to be pretty. It was a simple word used by young boys to describe girls. Pretty. But when Yvonne was brought in and he saw her for the first time, head-on after all those years... Underneath the pale skin, empty eyes, sickly thin frame and bruises that decorated her body, Henry found Yvonne beautiful. Because he could still see the old, bubbly, vibrant Yvonne hidden underneath her current, withering form. She was still there, somewhere, and she was beautiful to him.

When Yvonne was lead into the room again, the door slamming shut behind the soldier who brought her, Henry greeted her with a small smile. "Yvonne?"

"I'm here," she said, as though to remind him that she wasn't mentally gone... That she was truly there with him in that room. Aware of his caring eyes staring at her, and his gentle smile. A small smile graced her lips as well.

"I, uhh..." Henry moved toward her a bit; small, hesitant steps. "...know that they don't feed you girls enough here, so I..." He motioned toward a bundle on the bed, now moving toward it instead. "...brought you these." He opened the bundle up, revealing a few loaves of bread. About five, from what she could see. "Sorry it's not a lot, but I had to grab them quickly before the others saw me taking them."

"No," she said quickly, moving slowly forward. "It's okay." The sight of the loaves of bread made her mouth water. What Henry said was true: Yvonne and the other prison girls weren't given much to eat. Just some cold mush and some crackers, but would sometimes make exceptions in order to keep the girls healthy for their labor duties. Yvonne didn't have much of an appetite there, and didn't beg or plead for more food. She didn't want to eat. Ever. Before meeting Henry for the first time in years, she had been trying to slowly starve herself, the only form of suicide that she could get away with in that place. The depressed, desperate girls in the prison camp died every year from purposely starving themselves. And she had wanted to join those girls. She wanted to die. All of them did. It wasn't like anyone was going to rescue them now... The only rescue for some girls there was suicide. What was worth living for in such a hell?

But now, after meeting Henry again, a bit of faith in life was restored. He had given her hope. And now her empty stomach growled, longing for the savory loaves of bread, longing for food that she had purposely kept out of her. There'd be days where she wouldn't eat, and days where she forced herself to eat just one small meal. And now she wanted to eat.

She stumbled over to the bed, to where the open bundle lay. Her hands greedily reached out, grabbing onto a loaf. She nearly sighed; the bread was still warm in her cold hands. She turned toward Henry, the gratitude in her blue eyes beyond imaginable. "Thank you so much," she said shakily, almost feeling close to tears. No one ever did anything nice for each other there, and it was the first time for her in years that a man treated her right. "This is very kind of you to do this for me."

He brightened at the sight of her blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. It warmed his heart knowing that he was making her this happy with just a few loaves of bread. It warmed his heart seeing her happy, period. The way her eyes danced with the same vibrancy he remembered from childhood... "It's no problem at all."

She smiled gratefully at him for a moment, before taking a seat on the bed, immediately sinking her teeth into the warm loaf of bread while Henry took a silent seat beside her. The bread was crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside. It tasted sweet in her mouth, and she nearly choked, eating quickly. She calmed down a bit, forcing herself to chew each piece slowly, savoring each taste. _Chew your food slowly, like Mom would say..._

_'Chew your food, sweetie.'_ She tensed a bit, mid-chew. "I am eating my food slowly, Mom... I'm trying to savor each taste." She smiled, her eyes staring off at the far wall. "The bread is so warm... Fresh out of the oven..." She swallowed the piece in her mouth, sending warmth throughout her body.

Henry watched her with concerned eyes. "Yvonne?"

She stayed silent, but her eyes didn't move away from that far wall. She continued to nibble slowly on the loaf in her hands. Once she finished one piece, she moved onto the other.

She blinked, and after a moment, she slowly turned her head away from the wall. She paused, taking a deep breath, almost out of relief before she continued eating. The next piece she swallowed tasted hard and rugged as it traveled down her throat, a troubling question on her mind. "You were speaking like them."

This caught Henry off guard. "Huh?"

"A few days ago, you spoke to that soldier in their language." Her tone wasn't accusing, only curious. She glanced over at him. "How?"

He nearly let out a breath of relief as well, glad that she wasn't angry at him. "Ever since they took me and forced me to become a soldier, I learned more of their language. They taught it to me, and to the other boys. It was mandatory. But..." He paused, then continued, "...My father was originally from this country, but he moved away many years before the Great War even started. And he taught me their language when I was young." He gave a small, sad smile. "It's a good thing he moved, I guess. Once the Great War started, the enemy closed their borders and no one within their country could leave or come back if they were already gone. If my father hadn't moved when he had, he wouldn't have met my mother and I wouldn't have been born."

Yvonne stared at him, and he couldn't quite tell what it was she was thinking. Her expression was unreadable.

"So, because I knew more of their language than the other boys, I was moved up in rank as a soldier," He went on, "That's why they sent me here. They wanted me to _'treat myself'_." His eyes suddenly flashed with hatred. He knew what those soldiers meant, and he didn't dare tell that to Yvonne, but he could now see in her eyes that she understood what he meant. He tightened his hands into fists, but then relaxed, letting the conversation drop. He feared whatever he said next might send Yvonne, mentally, to another place.

Neither of them spoke for the next hour. Yvonne continued to eat until the last of the bread was gone. She tried offering the last piece to Henry, but he quickly refused, allowing her the last piece. After all, it was all for her. He felt she deserved as much as she wanted of all that he had.

The last piece of bread went down her throat, satisfying her stomach as it made it's way down. She felt full, satisfied, and for once, happy. But she glanced back toward the fall wall, giving Henry the impression that she was leaving reality again.

_"I'm here to help..."_

His words from before rang in her ears, and an idea presented itself. Maybe suicide hadn't been the answer. Maybe there was another way out...

When she opened her mouth and finally spoke, he wasn't expecting her to ask, "So... If you're going to help me... does that include helping me escape?"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if it's short and sorry if Yvonne seemed rush to suddenly ask such a question like escaping, but I think if you were being raped almost on a daily basis by a bunch of enemy soldiers and an old childhood friend offered to help you in anyway they could, you'd be asking them to help you escape the chance you got too.**

**Yep, this story is going in another direction than you expected. The ending of this chapter is obviously a hint. XD**

**Please review if you can! :)**


	4. Sanguinary

**Part 4**

_"So... If you're going to help me... Does that include helping me escape?"_

At first, Henry nearly didn't catch her words. He hadn't expected such an immediate, straight-forward question. After a moment of silence passed between them, the words rang in his ears, loud and painfully clear:

_"...helping me escape?"_

It was impossible. The first thing his mind registered was the reality of the word _'escape'_ used in such a war-torn world. There was no escape from war, for he knew it followed every great leader and every prideful country. There was especially no escape in such a heavily-guarded area like the prison camp. It was just impossible. It couldn't be done. It just couldn't. "I don't even think that's possible, Yvonne," Henry answered honestly, giving a sigh of lament. "This place is heavily guarded, and even if we made it past a certain point... Even if we did escape..."

"...We're in_ their_ country's borders," she continued, almost with an understanding. Though the idea was far-fetched, the idea of escaping the enemy's country in general seemed far worse in her mind. She didn't even care if she stayed in the country's borders: she just wanted to leave this horrible place, where behind the brown walls someone's innocence is stolen almost nightly. "I don't care how far we get," she stated, "I just want to leave this place."

"That would be an even more dangerous endeavor," Henry reminded her, almost in a panic, almost in hopes of changing her mind. Even though he was trained as a soldier and made it quite far in their ranks, he didn't think he had the bravado needed to hatch such a risky plan. "We wouldn't even make it past the electric fences!"

"Don't you have clearance?"

_How did Yvonne guess that so spot-on?_ Henry wondered. He paused, hesitant to answer. It was true: he did have clearance to leave if he wanted to, but it was the fact that there was no possible way he could get Yvonne to tag along without anyone noticing she was leaving with him. None of the women were allowed to leave that place: no matter what. "Y-yes, but-"

"-If you have military clearance to leave, isn't there some way I could somehow manage to leave with you? Couldn't we-"

"Yvonne, please!" She glanced in his direction now due to the sudden spike of desperation in his voice. "Please understand: even if there was a way, which I guess there is, we wouldn't even make it past their borders. Someone would find us eventually, and if that happens, we'd both be executed. And it would have been all for nothing."

She didn't answer him after he spoke those words in such a sharp tone of voice, on the edge of desperation. He was desperate to change her mind. She was desperate to escape, no matter what the costs.

The conversation was dropped right there, and the night was spent differently than the one they had before. Instead of speaking on any other subject matter, they spent that night in complete silence. She slept in the bed while he slept in that same chair, just like before. However, instead of a peaceful night sleep, Yvonne simply stared at the ceiling, wondering, imagining, wishing, until, at some point, her tired eyes shut completely.

And that night she dreamed of a world that lay beyond this place. Not the war-torn world she knew was really out there, but of a world that once existed when she was a child. Before everything fell apart...

* * *

How many days after that were spent together, Henry didn't have a clue. He had lost count after the tenth night. Luckily for him, Yvonne had dropped the subject of escape completely, until, weeks later, the idea floated away, completely vanishing from his mind. Instead he was able to happily spend time with the girl he was to shy to talk to as a child.

But the idea came back, slamming into him all in one horrifying moment.

While waiting for Yvonne to be brought up to his room, something in the air around him had changed. There was a shiver, one that traveled down his spine in a way different from any he had ever had previously. It was the same shiver he felt as a child, when the first enemy planes appeared in the night sky, just before the first bomb was dropped.

Something was terribly wrong, and he knew it from the familiar, threatening sense of danger. And just like he had before when the very first bomb had dropped so many years before, he went to investigate, the memory of that awful night fresh and ready to replay, like an old movie...

* * *

_Those planes. They looked so different than the ones he knew England had. No... those planes appearing in the horizon of town were different. He felt a sudden chill as he watched from the safety of his bedroom window. When he glanced down at the streets below, a few townspeople had stepped out of their homes, watching the approaching planes in awe. He couldn't see their facial reactions, nor could he hear their verbal reactions. All he knew was the a few of the locals were having the same reaction he was having: simply watching in awe, but aware of the sudden change in the usually safe atmosphere. _

_At some point his mother rushed in. "Get away from the window!" she shrieked, grabbing him, lifting him up._

_He wondered why, and was about to ask his panic-stricken mother when their home shook violently, vibrations sending breakable glass to the floor, shattering on impact, bringing bookshelves and books to the ground, bringing tables and chairs to their knees. Along with the sudden rumble of the ground under their feet, the window's glass exploded as an ear-piercing 'boom' erupted from nearby. _

_An explosion. Like thunder, it frightened the young Henry Griffith, who clung to his mother out of fear. Already the boy began to cry from the sound. "What's happening?!"_

_His mother didn't reply, instead taking the chance to quickly turn and run out of Henry's room, down the shaking stairs and out the door, into the complete chaos outside; still holding her son close to her chest._

_Homes and local stores were up in flames, the planes roaring overhead as more bombs fell, more explosions erupting. Panicked women and children ran for their lives, some even on fire. Children he knew were on fire. Crying, begging, screaming. The sounds of their screams were drowned out by the sounds of the explosions._

_He closed his eyes. The visions ceased, but the sounds continued on, despite his best attempts to shut the noises out._

* * *

Henry froze in the hallway, listening to the sounds of drunken men laughing while young girls pleaded and cried. The following memory, the one with his mother, was even worse than seeing the innocent women and children caught in flames.

* * *

_The noises ceased after what seemed like an eternity. _

_"Please, help us!"_

_Henry opened his eyes. There was no town now. All he could see around him were rolling hills and desert, two land elements that lay in the outskirts of his small hometown. But even past the rolling hills and desert, past the still darkness of the night, he saw what his mother saw. _

_Soldiers. Headed their way. At first, he felt his own tiny heart flutter with hope. Because in the darkness, it seemed as though the soldiers ahead were part of England's army. His father might be in that crowd, the father that had been drafted many months before. _

_The soldiers were a sign of help, or so they thought._

_His mother placed Henry back onto the ground, taking his hand as they two ran forward with hopeful smiles, toward the soldiers already headed their way._

_Until his mother stopped dead in her tracks._

_Even in the darkness, Henry could clearly see what his mother saw as he froze in place beside her. The enemy soldiers were aiming their guns right at the young boy and his mother. _

_One gave a shout, a demand in a foreign language that was familiar to Henry. He caught a word here and there in the soldier's sentence, realizing that the language his father had taught the basics to... was the enemy's language. _

_As the soldier continued to speak in a loud, demanding voice, another soldier ran straight for the mother and son duo. _

_Everything happened so fast for the nine-year-old boy. His mother was quickly seized by the soldier that had ran toward them. She screamed, trying to fight him off as the other soldiers moved forward. Somewhere in the struggle, as Henry numbly watched the scene unfold, his mother was hit across the face by a gun, sending her to the dirt floor. _

_Henry regained control of himself, screaming for his mother as he reached for her. Almost out of thin air, two arms wrapped themselves around his waist, lifting the boy up and holding him in place. Henry thrashed around in another soldier's arms as he watched a small group of laughing soldiers surround his poor, innocent mother. _

_"Mom!"_

_One soldier knelled down beside Henry's injured mother, reaching down and forcing the young mother to lie on her stomach in the dirt. The soldier crawled on top of her, straddling her. Two greedy, hungry hands lifted the back of her dress up. Undergarments were ripped from their rightful place as those same two greedy hands of the soldier reached down, unzipping his own pants. _

_Henry didn't know what the soldier was going to do his mother, but he knew it was something awful, causing him to scream and plead even more as he struggled to reach her. _

_Choking on hot, thick tears that trickled down his cheeks, Henry could only watch as the soldier began the unspeakable acts against his beautiful young mother. _

_"MOMMA!"_

* * *

Henry was standing in front of a single door now, unsure of how he got there, but quite sure that Yvonne was just beyond his reach.

Even in the stillness of that narrow hallway, Henry could still hear the awful sound of his younger self's voice echo in the back of his mind. What had happened to the girl he still liked had also happened to his mother. And he watched it happen.

His hand gripped the cold, metal knob. He wasn't controlling his body anymore; something else was telling him to go inside this specific room. Though he didn't know where Yvonne was exactly, some other force was willing his body to open the door and find out for himself what was on the other side...

Almost numbly, he turned the doorknob, the door popping open just slightly. He let the knob slip from his hand as the door opened completely on it's own, revealing a horrific sight that he wasn't expecting to find.

His face paled, green eyes wide, aghast from the sight he was confronted with. So much crimson... He was certain he could paint a picture with that much blood...

His mouth felt dry, his throat clenched, muscles tensing as he spoke the single name aloud in a small, quiet stutter, "Y-Yvonne?"

* * *

**A/N: Oh ho, whatever you're thinking is gonna happen next chapter might not be what you ended up expecting at all! Just wait and see! ;) **

**So sorry this is so short, but if I want to have this story seriously long, chapter-wise, I needed to end this chapter here.**

**And in case my words confused you: The next part where Henry is remembering his mother takes place a few weeks later, and every night during those few weeks Henry had Yvonne come over so they could spend time together. They've gotten to know each other even more than before. Henry's way of 'helping' Yvonne is by giving her someone to talk to, and what better person to talk to in such a hell than a familiar childhood face? He wants to give her comfort because, if it hasn't been made obviously clear, he loves her, and has love her since they were kids. **

**Anyway, yeah, Henry's father was originally from the enemy country, which is how Henry made such a high rank, by choice, in the enemy's military. Because his father had taught him their language as a kid. His father was drafted into England's military a few months before the bombings. So... In case you didn't know that, there ya go. ;P And yeah, his mom was raped in front of him after they ran out far past town in search of help... They never found that help, instead finding something much, much worse... **

**So... Yeah. Until next time: please review! Tell me what you think might happen next chapter!**


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